You're What Matters
by SingularToast
Summary: After running out on Noah a few weeks before, Rachel realises almost immediately that she misses him. But it takes one last phone call to convince her to come home. Featuring the song 'If You Ever Come Back' by The Script.


**Title:** You're What Matters  
**Pairing/Characters:** Puck & Rachel, plus a few cameos.  
**Rating/Warnings:** T for a little language  
**Summary:** After running out on Noah a few weeks before, Rachel realises almost immediately that she misses him. But it takes one last phone call to convince her to come home. Featuring the song 'If You Ever Come Back' by The Script.  
**Spoilers:** Nope.  
**Disclaimer:** _Glee_ sadly doesn't belong to me.

* * *

Jumping when her phone finally buzzed with a message, Rachel looked up from her book and stared at where it sat on her bedside table for a moment. More than ten minutes had gone by and no message had come through, so she just assumed he hadn't bothered to leave her a voicemail. Tentatively reaching out, she picked up her phone and unlocked the screen.

_1 new message._

Taking a deep breath, she opened the message.

_You have 1 new voicemail message. Please dial …_

Her heart, which was already beating faster than usual, sped up at those words. She'd ignored his call just over fifteen minutes ago. Even if she allowed time for her voicemail recording to play, and for a delay in the notification to come through to her phone, she knew that this would be a very, _very_ long message.

With shaking hands and a thundering heart, she dialled the voicemail service and requested to play her recent messages.

_You have … one … new message. Message received today at … ten … thirty-seven … pm._

'_Rach?_'

Gasping at just the sound of his voice, Rachel immediately hung up the phone and dropped it onto her bed. She couldn't do it. She couldn't hear what he had to say. But she so desperately wanted to know what he'd called for. Her mind was tormented, tossing between ignoring the message and possibly deleting it entirely, and hearing whatever it was that he had to tell her.

Rachel had always been far too curious for her own good.

_You have … one … archived message. To replay this message, press one._

Taking another deep breath, she pressed the number on the keypad and listened.

'_Rach?_' A short pause and a long sigh followed that lone word before he continued. '_Didn't think you'd answer. I'm cocky, but I hate being proven right _all_ the time._'

She hated that even such a small joke elicited a chuckle from her.

'_I didn't even really want to talk this time. I mean, I do want to talk, but that's not really why I called. I just … please listen to this. I found this the other day and it's just … God, I can't get this out of my head, 'cause it's just … _us_. So please, Rach, baby, just listen. Just for a sec'. Then I'll be outta your hair. Promise._'

Hearing a soft strumming in the background as he checked his guitar for tuning, Rachel sat up further in bed and settled back against the pillows, pressing her phone close to her ear. He was going to play something for her. For them. _Oh, Noah …_

The dulcet notes of plucked guitar strings filtered through the phone, and she immediately felt tears begin to form. It had been so long since she heard him play. Too long. And when the husky tenor of his singing followed the guitar notes, she closed her eyes to listen.

'If you're standing with your suitcase but you can't step on the train.  
Everything's the way that you left it, I still haven't slept yet.  
And if you're covering you face now, but you just can't hide the pain.  
Still setting two plates on the counter but eating without 'ya.'

_She had been standing on the curb for several minutes, her fury dying slowly while she stood there staring at the closed door of her car. Her suitcase was already in the boot and her handbag was slung over her shoulder. A backpack sat at her feet, but that was the last piece she needed to pick up. All she needed to do was open that door, put her things on the seat inside, close the door behind her, and turn the key._

_If it weren't the middle of summer, she would wonder if her feet could freeze to the sidewalk after how long she had been standing there._

_Taking a deep breath, she reached for the silver handle. Picking up the backpack with her other hand, she opened the door and stepped off the curb. It wasn't until she peeled away from his house and accelerated down the deserted road that she looked up at the rear-view mirror, watching the letterbox at the end of his driveway growing smaller and smaller._

_That was when she cried._

'If the truth is you're a liar when you say that you're okay.  
I'm sleeping on your side of the bed going out of my head, now.  
And if you're out there try'na move on, but something pulls you back again.  
I'm sitting here trying to persuade you like you're in the same room.'

_"No, really Quinn, I'm fine. Would you stop asking? You're starting to sound like a broken record."_

_"You're not _fine_. You can't be _fine_ sitting by yourself all the damn time. Come out with us, come have a few drinks. It'll be great."_

_Biting her lip, she started to ask, "Is—?"_

_"He's not going to be there."_

_"Okay, fine."_

_So she went to the pub with the girls, had a few drinks and laughed and joked like normal. She even bumped into a rather attractive man named Steve who bought her a drink and talked to her for a good hour about anything and everything. It was lovely, he was lovely, and she felt like she hadn't smiled that much or felt like what she had to say was actually interesting in a long time. Not since—But then he asked for her number._

_She looked at him, looked at the napkin and pen he offered her, and hesitated. It had been over a month. What harm could a phone number do? That wasn't any kind of promise, was it?_

_"Sorry, I just … don't feel comfortable giving out my number."_

_Even after that rejection he smiled, pocketed the pen again, said he understood, and bought her another drink._

_But she felt still felt like she was cheating somehow._

'And they say I'm wasting my time, 'cause you're never coming home.  
But they used say the world was flat and how wrong was that now?  
And by leaving my door open I'm risking everything I own.  
There's nothing I could lose in a break-in that you haven't taken.'

_"It was constant. Right at the end there I found that I couldn't even look at him, not without wanting to … to … rip his face off, or something."_

_"His face? His whole face? That sounds very—"_

_"Kurt, do you mind? I'm trying to be serious here."_

_"Sorry lovely, do go on."_

_Sighing, Rachel dropped back onto her bed and stared down at the photos that were laid out on the floor; their high school graduation, that stupid after party, their first 'official' date, and their six month anniversary. There was one there taken on the day he'd bought her a fluffy orange kitten, and another on the day they gave that same kitten to Brittany because it turned out she was allergic._

_He'd named that kitten Jap, which she had thought was incredibly inappropriate until he explained that it was actually an acronym. She'd somehow forgotten that time when he'd called her his hot little Jewish-American Princess._

_"We fought constantly over the littlest, most ridiculously mundane things. Then he wanted me to move in." Snorting derisively, she said, "We could barely stay in each other's company for longer than five minutes without snapping, what on earth was going to happen once we lived together permanently?"_

_"Doll, you were practically living there anyway."_

_"But I could still leave! If things became too tense, too frustrating, too overbearing, then I could just walk out that door and go back to my place for the evening."_

_"Is that what happened this time?"_

_Staring down at the photo placed directly in front of her, Rachel sighed again. His arms were wrapped around her from behind, his chin resting on the top of her head, as the two of them stood out the front of his place. That had been their second year anniversary, and she'd made such a fuss of it that he'd called Quinn over to photograph their 'big day'._

_He then promptly told their friend to get lost, of course, because he wanted time alone with his girl._

_"Yes," she whispered, feeling the first tear slide down her cheek. "I thought I'd had enough. I just couldn't stand another minute of living with that grouch. So I grabbed everything. All my toiletries, all the clothes that were strewn around his room." Laughing mirthlessly, she added, "Even my stereo. I stuffed what I could into a luggage trolley and one backpack and just took off. I went back to my apartment, locked the doors, and ignored everything. Every phone call, every message, every visit, every delivery."_

_"But that was a couple of weeks ago now, Rach. What's … I mean, has he …?"_

_Smiling warmly at the memories despite the heavy tears now falling down her cheeks, she said, "He still calls every other day. I still ignore him though. And he must have dropped around yesterday because there was a basket outside with some of my washing in it."_

_"Your washing. Rachel honey, you've basically broken up with him and the man is still doing your laundry. I'd say he loves you." There was a slight pause before Kurt added, "And it sounds like you still love him."_

_She took in one large shuddering breath, and then another. But it didn't help. "I _do_," she said brokenly, and finally let the sobs take over._

'I wish you could give me the cold shoulder, and I wish you could still give me a hard time.  
And I wish I could still wish it was over.  
Even if wishing is a waste of time, even if I never cross your mind.'

_"You know what comes after an epic break-up fight, don't you?"_

_Shaking her head, not sure if she even wanted the answer, Rachel waited for her to say it anyway._

_"An epic make-up fuck."_

_"Santana!"_

_"What? It's true! Especially for you two." Throwing back the last few mouthfuls of her drink, Santana slammed the glass back on the counter of the bar and hailed for another round. "I mean, this is _him_ and _you_. You're both as stubborn as each other, but you're kinda explosive all over the place, you know? One minute you'll be yelling at each other over the number of drinks you've both had and whether or not you can drive home, then the next you'll be ripping each other's' clothes off before you can even make it to the spare bedroom."_

_"One time that happened!" Rachel said, smacking her friend's arm, even though she knew the truth of her words._

_Sam placed two bottles of beer in front of them, winked at Santana, and said, "So I'm totally butting in here, but San's right. In her own odd kinda off-the-point way. You guys argue over the price of milk and the weather. It's what you do."_

_"But I don't want to do that anymore."_

_Shrugging, he said, "So don't."_

_Gaping at the boy as he walked away, Rachel called out, "It's not that easy!"_

_"Yes it is."_

'If it's the fighting you remember, or the little things you miss.  
I know you're out there somewhere so just remember this;  
If it's the fighting you remember or the little things you miss.  
Then just remember this, oh just remember this …

I'll leave the door on the latch if you ever come back.  
I'll leave a light on in the hall and the key under the mat if you ever come back.  
There'll be a smile on my face with the kettle on, and it will be just like you were never gone.  
I'll leave a light on in the hall and the key under the mat,  
If you ever come back, if you ever come back now.'

When the final chord sounded out and he dragged in a deep breath, Rachel let out a soft whimper.

'_Rachel, baby … I fuckin' miss you. I don't care about all that other stuff – you can keep your stupid apartment! Seriously, you can stay there. You can still just keep on coming over or I can go there and then you can just head on home again, whatever, you know? Just … I want you back. Babe, I … shit. I'll just … I'm not gonna ask again. This is it. I just want you back. S'up to you now._'

Before the recording even ended, before the automated speaker could ask her if she wanted to return the call or save the message, Rachel was out of bed. She was out of bed, her phone dropped haphazardly on the bed somewhere, and she was hunting down some pants. Tugging on a pair of jeans under her oversized sleep shirt – one of his old gym ones – and snagging her keys off the counter, she ran out the door. It was quarter to eleven on a Wednesday night, she wasn't wearing a bra or shoes, and there she was tearing across town.

Her phone, which she had barely remembered to grab before leaving, was pressed to her ear.

"Come on. Noah, please pick up. Please, Noah, just …" But voicemail kicked in. Biting her lip against the uncharacteristic curse that threatened to spill from her lips, she didn't leave a message. This was no longer the time for messages. This was the time for actions.

She pulled into his drive minutes later.

In her haste to reach his door, Rachel didn't even care that she left her car running. She dashed down the cracked concrete path to his door, taking the few steps up to his porch two at a time, and rapped her knuckles against his door furiously. "Noah?" She called, not even recognising the note of desperation in her own voice. "Noah? I—"

She didn't let him speak when he opened the door. Flinging herself into his arms she just held on for dear life, burying her head against the hollow of his neck and breathing in his familiar scent as he wrapped his arms around her.

Who knew being home could smell so good.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled against his shoulder. "I'm sorry for leaving, and I'm sorry for ignoring your calls, and I'm sorry for making you feel like that. I'm just … Noah, I am so sorry, so sorry …"

Hearing his gruff chuckle was like music to her ears, and Rachel clutched tighter at his shirt.

Feeling tears start to form as she thought about his beautiful voice singing that song, she whispered, "Noah, I love you. You're right, none of that other stuff matters. I promise I won't nag you about taking out the trash, or mowing your lawn, or paying back Mr Brewster for breaking his gate. I swear I won't complain if you forget about Valentine's Day again, and I won't even bat an eyelid if you can't finish my chilli—"

"Babe, shut up," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. "Just … shut up."

Breaking away from him slightly so she could look up at his face, Rachel met his eyes hopefully, not daring to speak.

"Fuck, I've missed you," he mumbled, right before crashing his lips down against hers.


End file.
